The Back Story

The sky is a soft peach hue in the east this morning with a deep aqua edging that fades into ice blue. I think of my mother Ann, who spent her young life in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn, moving later in life to Wilton and then Simsbury, Connecticut surrounded by tall trees instead of city lights and buildings. She always longed to be able to look out and see the whole sky. Her happy place was the ocean’s edge when visiting Maine where she could see an endless vista of sky and sea. And, of course, many little grandchildren frolicking in the foreground.

I admired my mother who knew what she wanted and what she loved, especially her sweetheart from high school, my father Jack. When he returned from war in Korea, together they began from a cold water flat in the city to make their dreams a reality. They did a spectacular job.

I sit here in a house I own under the peach to blue sky in large part because of their industriousness and love. They gave us the financial cushion to make it possible. I am sure this was one of their goals – the security of their five kids, eleven grandchildrren, and seven and counting greatgrands. We are all housed, fed, and comfortable.

I often wonder what they would think about their eldest daughter now, retired from a career in ministry (more a vocation than a career, but can one retire from a calling?), and planning an extended foray into silence. I expect my mom would work to understand it, we’d have a few long conversations, likely beginning with the questions – “But what is this going to do to Joel?” “How is it going to affect your relationship?” She’d relax a little when I tell her that he is looking forward to it, that it will give him some time to do his own soul-searching.

Now my dad, he would likely shake his head. But at this point, he would be used to this child who always chose to take a path he did not understand. Or agree with. Why get three advanced degrees in religious studies and ministry and then choose to pastor in small country and coastal churches, instead of having a respectable academic career? I am fortunate to be able to say that though he did not often understand me, he always loved me, and I him.

In reality, it was my father’s encouragement to attend college, even the Jesuit one that he blamed for “ruining” me, that fostered my desire to explore the life of the Spirit. To seek the riches of silence and live a contemplative life. Perhaps, had we begun our marriage in a cold water flat, having just endured a war, Joel’s and my path would have been different, shaped by other dreams and needs.

But I don’t know. I seem to have been haunted by God since childhood. Sh/he, they, it won’t let me go. Perhaps it began with attending to the skies in the morning.